In the solitude of her room
by neska-polita
Summary: Margaret reflects on the dinner and her relationship with Mr. Thornton. Story should be inserted between chapters 51 and 52 of the book.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _Halfway North and South the reader starts seeing less of Margaret's thoughts and more and more of Mr. Thornton's, to the point that in the last two chapters we only see Margaret through other people's eyes (Edith, Dixon, Henry and Mr. Thornton). I think that's because Gaskell fell in love with her male leading character (not that I blame her for that ;-), so here I attempt to bringing Margaret back into focus._

_Also, because I am always surprised by "Oh, Mr. Thornton, I am not good enough", I try to delve into her state of mind that makes her say that._

_Here is a one shot story that should go between Ch. 51 and 52, the two last of the book. It's the night after Mr. Thornton comes for dinner, and Margaret reflects on the nature of their relationship and has an imaginary conversation with him._

_Please read my notes on language and inspirations for this piece at the end of the text._

_Thank you for reading and your comments (if you have any, of course)._

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><p>Dixon helped Margaret out of her dress and undid her hair, tossing the pomegranate flowers with a little too much energy on a side basket. While she combed the long jet black locks and tied them for the night, she observed that her young mistress' cheeks were red and she sat unusually quiet, even though she had been in her room for more than half an hour. Just as Edith had expressed before, Dixon feared Margaret might be ill from visiting slums during the day.<p>

-"I hear Mr. Thornton dined here this evening", said Dixon to make Margaret come out of her silence.

-"Yes, he did", was the absent-minded reply.

-"Not that I mind much about them, but are Mrs. Thornton and Mrs. Watson in good health?", persevered Dixon.

-"I really don't know, Dixon. Why do you ask?" Margaret's eyes met her servant's on the mirror.

"Oh, I only wondered." Dixon felt cornered as she often did when Margaret didn't want to be challenged. "You look flushed. Are you alright, Miss Margaret?", she said to change the topic of conversation.

Margaret shifted on her stool as if Dixon had jostled her. "Yes, Dixon, I am alright" she snapped, but tried to soften her tone. "It's so hot, please be nice and bring me a cool refreshment. Maybe a glass of lemonade or a piece of fruit. Will you, dear old Dixon?" she said with a cajoling smile. "A nectarine would be just the thing."

Miss Margaret could handle Dixon better than anyone, and Dixon was glad there were never witnesses to the times when her mistress kept a short leash on her. She went to the pantry and came back quickly with a jug of cool water and two nectarines on a small tray. She left them on Margaret's desk, and stood waiting to be dismissed.

-"Goodnight Dixon, you may retire" said Margaret. She wanted to be alone, if only to think, because some thoughts are best had in private. The servant retreated closing softly the door behind her, and Margaret turned to the tray with the water and the fruit and sighed.

This evening she had met Mr. Thornton for the first time in a year and a half. She had spent the afternoon with poor factory workers' families, and on her way back home she pondered about the conveniences of marriage without love - she saw daily examples and knew that camaraderie and friendship sometimes lasted a lifetime, when love sometimes just vanished within a few years. She had thought about Mr. Thornton, as she had often done since the day he had proposed, figuring him far and happy in Milton - only to find him sitting across the table two hours later.

But then, it had always been like that with Mr. Thornton. He always seemed to be a step or two ahead of her, and everything she had once assumed about him had been proved wrong.

When she thought him cold and dismissive of other's feelings, he had offered her (in private!) every help within his powers to ease her mother's discomfort. By antagonizing her she felt he held only derision for her opinions and her person in general, while in reality he was forming a very serious attachment of the heart. She thought she wouldn't see him again after her cruel rejection, but he kept attending his lessons and bringing baskets of fruit of her ailing mother. After her mother's death she had found him at Higgins' home and she thought he might still have some feelings for her, but that very afternoon he made a point in stating exactly the opposite, in so many words. He was angry because of her lie, enough to spat hurtful words in the presence of her father and Mr. Bell, but saved her from the police inquest by calling it off; so disgusted by her as to ask his mother to remonstrate her, but discreet enough not to share the particulars of her misdeed. He could spare the time to go to Crampton and ask after herself and attend her father's funeral in Oxford, but unable to sit down when she went to his house with Aunt Shaw to say goodbye. Then he had stood reading some business letters, and he seemed to remember them being there only when they were leaving to walk them to the door, as if he couldn't wait to get rid of her. She had thought him prosperous and far, but he was broken and very near.

It was all very confusing, she thought while she filled a glass and raised it to her lips. Aunt Shaw and Edith liked to say that men were simple: they did not know Mr. Thornton!

In the long days by the seaside, watching the waves and listening to the gulls, Margaret had arrived to the conclusion that she should not spend any more time trying to discern Mr. Thornton's mind or heart, but that she should focus on her own ones instead. And what was not confusing for her, not one iota, was that at some point (she couldn't say when or how), she had fallen in love with John Thornton. One wild, strange, miserable feeling she took some time to name, it had been love all along. He had earned her respect and admiration, even if she had been reluctant at first, and had became her measuring canon of men. That essential truth had guided her actions, her priorities, her views of the world, even if the realization had arrived too late to do anything about it.

Today they had met in her home, fashionable Harley Street of London, among her set of relations, attending one of her cousin's dinners. Now she was rich while he was poor, she had suitors while he had silvery threads in his head, but he had been the source of the finest conversation while she had barely uttered an intelligent word. She did ask about the Thorntons and the Higginses (they were all in good health and Mrs. Watson was with child), but she didn't know what else to say and remained silent.

Oh, she was so hot! She stood and took a washcloth from a drawer, dipped it in the washbowl, rinsed it and put it on her neck, enjoying the cool drops of water sliding down under her night shirt.

She had felt so hot during the dinner, embarrassed by half formed thoughts of very improper nature. Where did those thoughts come from? She had noticed on their very first meeting that Mr. Thornton was tall and broad shouldered, but why hadn't she noticed how handsome he really was? This evening Edith had worked hard to live up to her reputed beauty when he wasn't talking to the parliamentary guest, and she had caught Aunt Shaw's very discreet eye assessing him while pretending to listen to the other female guests. Guests, who in turn, had made their respective inquires about the tall gentleman and went on to say that _indeed,_ they had heard about him before.

Margaret sighed and undid the top of her shirt rolling it down to her waist, pressing the cold wet washcloth on her forehead first, then her front and back, finishing on her arms and ribs. The chill made her skin erupt in goosebumps, a pleasant feeling that made her nipples feel curiously hard. She knew that looking at her reflection in the mirror would be almost impudent, but she did it anyway. She was young and healthy, her breasts heavy and her womb dormant. Her lips and the petals of her flower (that's how Aunt Shaw had instructed her and Edith to call it down between their legs), still ignorant of their match, felt the hottest of her body, almost swollen and pulsating - it was both pleasant and a little unnerving.

Growing up in a rural area, surrounded by farms and peasants, and later on in her intercourse with the working classes, she had gained a fairly comprehensive insight on how babies were born and how they got there in the first place, and enough vocabulary to name most bodily parts involved in the process. Still, such knowledge was completely theoretical and flower petals was a poetic name she liked.

She patted herself dry and rolled up the shirt to its former place, tying it loosely at the neck. With another sigh (she was indeed flushed and breathing heavily) she took a nectarine - Mr. Thornton had eaten one during desert, and she had taken pleasure in seeing him holding the fruit with his long fingers and tearing the flesh with his white, straight teeth. An image of her own flesh being ravished so thoroughly had flashed through her mind, and she had felt a mighty blush creeping from her neck to her jaws, and cheeks and maybe even her ears. He had been smiling but when caught sight of her and her blush, went serious and didn't direct any other look her way. Had he known what was on her mind? Or did she look so unhealthy that he'd rather avoid her sight?

This one nectarine she was holding in her right hand was sister to that one, and even if this one was a feeble link to Mr. Thornton, it was all she could have in the solitude of her room.

-"You know, Mr. Thornton, it seemed as if I had conjured you up, so much I thought of you today", she said to nectarine. "Would you come if I called you again?"

-"Of course I would", replied Mr. Thornton. He was lying on her bed, hands crossed under his head, one flexed leg with the foot on the coverlet, the other one crossed over it.

-"Mr. Thornton! Why are you on my bed? And your foot is on the coverlet, you'll be ruining it!"

-"My foot is on the coverlet, dear Miss Hale, because I am too tall for the length of your bed. But don't worry about me spoiling it; since I am imaginary I cannot ruin physical things. Still..." he didn't finish the sentence but with a quick motion (almost a jump) sat on the bed with his feet on the floor. He was wearing the same suit he wore in Milton, with smoke and fluff on it.

-"I... did you have a pleasant evening, Mr. Thornton? I am sorry I didn't speak much, did I disappoint you?" Margaret's cheeks went ablaze once more.

-"Considering that the dinner was brought over by the loss of my business, I had a good time", he replied.

-"You have changed so much!", Margaret felt a lump in her throat, "was it that bad?"

-"My business didn't fail because of my lack of work, and the past two years have had a lot of it. But you have changed too."

-"Have I? I've finished mourning the loss of my family, that's all. Well, and I am rich now, as you well know, but that's because I'm Mr. Bell's heiress."

-"Is that all?", asked he.

-"Yes, I suppose so. You couldn't see it, of course, because I didn't speak tonight. And I was wearing this golden dress, which looks ostentatious but was chosen for me because I am not all that interested in clothes, but I did spend the day with factory workers" she added quickly, words coming out in a tumble. As usual, she lost her bearings when confronted to him.

-"Oh, I see. Have you already found London's own Mr. Higgins?" he raised an eyebrow while he asked, and she didn't know if he was serious or not. "So, you find me confusing", he said suddenly, "I heard you enumerating whys and whens. I'm afraid my memory is not that good as to repeat them all".

-"Don't you agree with me?" she replied defensively.

-"Actually no, Miss Hale, as your aunt says, I am very simple. You blame me on being confusing but it's only that my reasons make my actions look a little contradictory sometimes. If you take a closer look at my reasons and principles, I am quite a consistent man", he smiled a little, almost to himself. "But how about you? Are you not contradictory too?". Mr. Thornton was standing now, his shoulder against the door frame, his arms crossed. "How about yourself, Margaret Hale?"

-"What about me?" she echoed, feeling a little stupid. "What is so confusing about me?"

He sighed as if the task was completely unnecessary, but complied. "You were the daughter of a former country vicar but carried yourself like a queen. What was I to make of it? You lived in Harley Street, surrounded by all things nice and dandy, yet you didn't hesitate to making friends with Higgins and his daughter." He swallowed and frowned, and Margaret knew what came next. "You sent me down to protect the rioters from the police squad, go on protecting yours truly with your own body from said rioters, went on fleeing my house in spite of being hurt..."

-"I didn't flee your house. My mother was sick, I didn't want to spend any longer away from home!" she complained, but he continued as if she hadn't spoken.

-"Madam, you think nothing of putting your own life at risk, of sacrificing yourself (your time, energy, even your feelings) for the sake of your ideals or your loved ones. However," he paused for a few moments, "you seem unable to accept anything back."

-"I did take Mr. Bell's will. He asked me if I agreed, and I said yes. See, Mr. Thornton?" she said triumphantly, "you're wrong."

-"Am I?" his eyes bore into hers. "What did you do for him? I'd bet it was nothing."

Margaret was silent for a moment and he spoke next, picking a book from her night table. "Oh, I read this book once. I had the chickenpox and read every book available in the house. Miss Austen was one of the last I read before being back to health", he smiled boyishly. "Here's a line I've always remembered, I see it's in the chapter you'll read next".

He put the book down and walked about the room. "Can I have the other nectarine?" he said helping himself the lone fruit from the tray. "I'm not overly partial to nectarines, but you were eating the only apple that didn't look like it carried a worm".

Mr. Thornton wasn't a man who suffered from lack of words, but the one in her imagination was particularly loquacious.

-"Will we ever have a conversation like this one?" Margaret felt compelled to ask.

- "I don't think so", he said between bites and then paused to lower his gaze to her mouth. He stood in front of her, knelt and stretched out his left arm, caressing her lips softly with his thumb. In the mirror she saw herself, her right hand's thumb smearing the nectarine juice over her lips, but she didn't want to say goodbye to this vision yet.

- "I have a plan, tomorrow I'll have Henry draw a loan for you so you can have Marlborough Mills back." She was anxious to know what he'd think of this reversal of positions. "Will that reinstate me in your good opinions?"

- "Your money will surely save my business, but you cannot buy my good opinion", he replied. "I am not for sale. Would you have me here if I were for sale?"

The answer was obviously negative.

- "I don't want Marlborough Mills back, the premises I mean. I don't want the factory closed, and I don't want another tenant," she was on the verge of tears now. "It's all yours if you want it", she rubbed her chest to ease the knot that was starting to form there. "It's all yours", she said again, "because I love you. That's the truth".

- "And are you remarkable for saying the truth?" retorted Mr. Thornton, who now was sitting on the windowsill and scrubbed his hands with her used washcloth.

- "Matter of fact, yes I am" she was as hurt as the first time he had spoken those words. "The man you saw me with was my brother, who would be hanged if he is found in England. That Leonards man wanted to turn him in and collect the bounty. It's a long story, didn't Mr. Bell tell you about it?"

Mr. Thornton scratched his jaw pensively, the stubble making a nice scrapping sound. "No, he didn't. I heard he died... of course, you know all about that." He crossed his arms. "So you have a brother. How come your father never found time to tell me about him? How come you were so alone during your time in Milton, how come you're not with him right now?" he shook his head. "No, I find that hard to believe. All I know is that you lied to a police officer."

- "Will you ever forgive me for that?" asked Margaret, feeling her heart heavy as if it pumped lead instead of blood.

- "Maybe I already did. You don't really know much about my life these days, do you? I might have forgotten about you, as I once told you I would". He stated the facts in his usual voice while looked around for his hat.

- "You told me you had, not that you would", she remarked.

- "Did I? Well, I should be leaving and you should try to sleep." He was wearing hat and gloves in spite of the heat. "Thank you for the nectarine, and see you in flesh and bone next time. If there is any, that is".

Margaret turned down the linen sheets and slid into bed. She took a last look at Mr. Thornton, who seemed to be waiting for something.

- "Did Mr. Thornton really read Pride and Prejudice?"

He smiled. "That really doesn't matter, Miss Hale".

She still had one last question.

- "Do you still love me?"

- "Find out for yourself. Goodnight", and then he was gone.

Margaret still had the book in her hand, so she opened and read on. She had no difficulty finding the passage in question, since it had been underlined in pencil by a previous reader.

"He had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; (...) all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her."

Margaret closed the book and blew the candle off. She had a very good idea of what she would tell Henry, and she could only hope that he wouldn't be too dispaired to see his hopes crushed once again.

With these thoughts in her mind she fell asleep, tightly holding a pillow against her chest.

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><p><em>Language note: I would love to be able to write in Gaskell's style, but I am not native English speaker and I'd rather not risk sounding like an idiot. I appreciate if you can point any typos, wrong preposition or weird choice of words that clash.<em>

_Inspirations: Besides the obvious two works (North and South, and Pride and Prejudice), I drew inspiration from the film "Looking for Eric" (directed by Ken Loach, 2009), and victorian books "Alice's adventures in Wonderland" and "Through the looking glass", by Lewis Carroll (1865 and 1871 respectively)._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: _I hadn't planned on continuing this story, but I still had some ideas I hadn't used so I developed in here. The words in italic are the original text, so you can find it easily where to insert my piece._

_Thank you for reading me and all the encouragement expressed in my previous stories. I wouldn't have written this piece without it, though I feel I must warn you that it might take quite some time until I publish again._

_Please refer to chapter one of this story for my author notes on language and inspiration._

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><p>CHAPTER LII - 'PACK CLOUDS AWAY'<p>

_Edith went about on tip-toe, and checked Sholto in all loud speaking that next morning, as if any sudden noise would interrupt the conference that was taking place in the drawing-room. Two o'clock came; and they still sate there with closed doors. Then there was a man's footstep running down stairs; and Edith peeped out of the drawing-room._

_'Well, Henry?' said she, with a look of interrogation._

_'Well!' said he, rather shortly._

_'Come in to lunch!'_

_'No, thank you, I can't. I've lost too much time here already.'_

_'Then it's not all settled,' said Edith despondingly._

_'No! not at all. It never will be settled, if the "it" is what I conjecture you mean. That will never be, Edith, so give up thinking about it.'_

_'But it would be so nice for us all,' pleaded Edith. 'I should always feel comfortable about the children, if I had Margaret settled down near me. As it is, I am always afraid of her going off to Cadiz.'_

_'I will try, when I marry, to look out for a young lady who has a knowledge of the management of children. That is all I can do. Miss Hale would not have me. And I shall not ask her.'_

_'Then, what have you been talking about?'_

_'A thousand things you would not understand: investments, and leases, and value of land.'_

_'Oh, go away if that's all. You and she will be unbearably stupid, if you've been talking all this time about such weary things.'_

_'Very well. I'm coming again to-morrow, and bringing Mr. Thornton with me, to have some more talk with Miss Hale.'_

_'Mr. Thornton! What has he to do with it?'_

_'He is Miss Hale's tenant,' said Mr. Lennox, turning away. 'And he wishes to give up his lease.'_

_'Oh! very well. I can't understand details, so don't give them me.'_

_'The only detail I want you to understand is, to let us have the back drawing-room undisturbed, as it was to-day. In general, the children and servants are so in and out, that I can never get any business satisfactorily explained; and the arrangements we have to make to-morrow are of importance.'_

Although she was exhausted after her meeting with Henry, the rest of Margaret's afternoon dragged on slowly. She took little Sholto out for a walk, tried to read, at the evening sat down with her work - she later had to undo it all, for it had been done without due attention. She checked her clock time and time against the one over the mantelpiece for fear hers had been not marking the hour properly.

She felt like a bag of nerves, anxious to retreat to her bedroom, not completely able to compose herself all the time. She excused herself early saying she had a headache, but that wasn't true. She only wanted to be alone, far from Edith's chatter and Aunt Shaw's endless discussions of things that mattered to no one. Dixon went to her chamber and prepared her for bed and she dismissed her promptly.

There was a cool nightly breeze and she opened the window, the curtains softly bellowing in and out like a breathing chest. She sat on the vanity stool facing her mirror and let out a deep breath. The candle flickered and she blew it off. There was full moon and she could see herself in the mirror quite clearly, even if the unusual light gave a dreamy, almost eerie quality to the scene.

She looked down at her hands and whispered, "I know you would rather see me in person, but I need to talk to you again. Could you please come, Mr. Thornton?"

The curtains seemed to quiet for a minute and she felt it was a reminder of how lonely she really was. She normally liked to focus on her intercourse with Aunt Shaw and the Lennoxes (little Sholto was the apple of her eyes), or the workers and their families, but if she had to summon an imaginary Mr. Thornton it was because the rest wasn't enough for her.

She was almost embarrassed to have to force her imagination to bring him in here, and her mind (still tired after the detailed morning lesson), didn't seem too happy to comply. Was it, perhaps, best to stick to facts? But what harm would there be in indulging in pleasant thoughts, even if they'd never come to realization? Did this mean that Mr. Thornton was so far out of her reach that not even her imagination could have him?

The hopes she had been harboring all day long deserted her and in their wake there left only despair. At least she had a comfortable material situation and she didn't really depend on anyone, that was her only consolation.

It wasn't much.

- "I am sorry to have kept you waiting." Mr. Thornton was sitting on the stool next to her, his back to the mirror. "I had business to attend".

Margaret frowned. "What business could you have? I thought you were imaginary."

He clucked his tongue softly and shook his head. "Indeed I am. I had business with the imaginary Miss Hale." His clear eyes shone amused in the moonlight.

Margaret felt familiarly thrown out of step by Mr. Thornton, and a little alarmed by this new notion. "Is there an imaginary version of me? Whose is it? Does she make me justice?" She had a few questions on the subject, but she hadn't asked him to come to discuss them.

Mr. Thornton smiled and she thought he wouldn't reply, but he did. "You have occupied Mr. Thornton's thoughts more than once during the past three years. And as I could witness last night, Mr. Lennox's too. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Margaret blushed. "Mr. Lennox once proposed marriage, when we still lived in Helstone, and I refused him, of course. He took me by surprise but I never regretted turning him down. I could see that asking for my hand again has been on his mind lately, but today I told him not to have any hopes". She lowered her gaze and swallowed. "Mr. Lennox has been a good friend and I am not happy to crush his hopes a second time."

Mr. Thornton had been listening attentively, he was now sitting on the bed and inspected a small pillow as if were an engine. "I too could see his intentions, and thought you might return them. He seems a lot more like you than myself."

- "How can you think that? He is not!" Margaret didn't like those words. "Henry is a good man and a good friend, but he would never fight for me. When I told him I wouldn't return his feelings the first time, he didn't even seem upset! How could I like that?"

Mr. Thornton nodded deep in thought. "I wouldn't expect you to like that, but I didn't seem to fare much better myself by being upset, did I?"

Margaret replied quickly. "It might have not been obvious for you, but you did."

- "But I don't know about that, Miss Hale. I cannot possibly know" he explained softly. "Besides, how do you know I'm not married or engaged to a Milton lady by now?"

- "I don't know it", said Margaret timidly, "but you don't look married. And you didn't mention anything when I asked." Her eyes went to his tall figure, now standing in his full height on the dark corner of the room.

Mr. Thornton was inspecting a wooden box Margaret kept above her writing desk and took out a magnifying glass. "Good observation. Though I would like to know what a married man looks like," he said holding the glass with his left hand and looking his right one through it. During the past evening Margaret had noticed that Mr. Thornton favored his left hand for delicate or precise movements.

Margaret was silent now, still facing her mirror, her gaze back down. He raised his eyes and let them slide down the curve of her neck and shoulder. "What is it?", he asked in a slightly authoritative tone, "what's on your mind?"

- "Mr. Thornton," she took a deep breath and lifted her face, "this is not a question I would ever dare to utter but I must know. Do you find me pretty?" Her forehead was high, her cheeks were pale, her shoulders back, she was all indifference and haughtiness but he knew better by now.

Mr. Thornton was right behind her lowering his face until it was right next to hers. The breeze gave her exposed skin goosebumps, felt like a very subtle caress.

-"The question, Miss Hale, is not if I, or anyone else, finds you pretty. Not even if you are actually gorgeous. The question is" the breeze was warmer now and felt like like someone breathing, "do I make you feel beautiful, regardless on how you actually look? Tall or short, young or old, hair black or white, would you believe me when I say it, or would you feel something is amiss? That is the real question, Margaret, and it's only for you to answer."

Margaret looked at the mirror ruthlessly, and the young woman with the milk white skin, jet black hair and superb posture she found there, was, indeed, beautiful.

-"That's all you need to know", said he, and vanished.

_No one ever knew why Mr. Lennox did not keep to his appointment on the following day. Mr. Thornton came true to his time; and, after keeping him waiting for nearly an hour, Margaret came in looking very white and anxious._

_She began hurriedly: 'I am so sorry Mr. Lennox is not here,-he could have done it so much better than I can. He is my adviser in this'- _

_'I am sorry that I came, if it troubles you. Shall I go to Mr. Lennox's chambers and try and find him?'_

_'No, thank you. I wanted to tell you, how grieved I was to find that I am to lose you as a tenant. But, Mr. Lennox says, things are sure to brighten'-_

_'Mr. Lennox knows little about it,' said Mr. Thornton quietly. 'Happy and fortunate in all a man cares for, he does not understand what it is to find oneself no longer young-yet thrown back to the starting-point which requires the hopeful energy of youth-to feel one half of life gone, and nothing done-nothing remaining of wasted opportunity, but the bitter recollection that it has been. Miss Hale, I would rather not hear Mr. Lennox's opinion of my affairs. Those who are happy and successful themselves are too apt to make light of the misfortunes of others.'_

_'You are unjust,' said Margaret, gently. 'Mr. Lennox has only spoken of the great probability which he believes there to be of your redeeming-your more than redeeming what you have lost-don't speak till I have ended-pray don't!' And collecting herself once more, she went on rapidly turning over some law papers, and statements of accounts in a trembling hurried manner._

_'Oh! here it is! and - he drew me out a proposal - I wish he was here to explain it - showing that if you would take some money of mine, eighteen thousand and fifty-seven pounds, lying just at this moment unused in the bank, and bringing me in only two and a half per cent. - you could pay me much better interest, and might go on working Marlborough Mills.' Her voice had cleared itself and become more steady. _

_Mr. Thornton did not speak, and she went on looking for some paper on which were written down the proposals for security; for she was most anxious to have it all looked upon in the light of a mere business arrangement, in which the principal advantage would be on her side. _

_While she sought for this paper, her very heart - pulse was arrested by the tone in which Mr. Thornton spoke. His voice was hoarse, and trembling with tender passion, as he said: _

_- 'Margaret!'_

_For an instant she looked up; and then sought to veil her luminous eyes by dropping her forehead on her hands. Again, stepping nearer, he besought her with another tremulous eager call upon her name._

_'Margaret!'_

_Still lower went the head; more closely hidden was the face, almost resting on the table before her. He came close to her. He knelt by her side, to bring his face to a level with her ear; and whispered-panted out the words:_

_- 'Take care. - If you do not speak - I shall claim you as my own in some strange presumptuous way.-Send me away at once, if I must go; - Margaret! -'_

_At that third call she turned her face, still covered with her small white hands, towards him, and laid it on his shoulder, hiding it even there; and it was too delicious to feel her soft cheek against his, for him to wish to see either deep blushes or loving eyes. He clasped her close. But they both kept silence. At length she murmured in a broken voice:_

_'Oh, Mr. Thornton, I am not good enough!'_

_'Not good enough! Don't mock my own deep feeling of unworthiness.'_

_After a minute or two, he gently disengaged her hands from her face, and laid her arms as they had once before been placed to protect him from the rioters._

_'Do you remember, love?' he murmured. 'And how I requited you with my insolence the next day?'_

_'I remember how wrongly I spoke to you,-that is all.'_

_'Look here! Lift up your head. I have something to show you!' She slowly faced him, glowing with beautiful shame._

_'Do you know these roses?' he said, drawing out his pocket-book, in which were treasured up some dead flowers._

_'No!' she replied, with innocent curiosity. 'Did I give them to you?'_

_'No! Vanity; you did not. You may have worn sister roses very probably.'_

_She looked at them, wondering for a minute, then she smiled a little as she said - 'They are from Helstone, are they not? I know the deep indentations round the leaves. Oh! have you been there? When were you there?'_

_'I wanted to see the place where Margaret grew to what she is, even at the worst time of all, when I had no hope of ever calling her mine. I went there on my return from Havre.'_

_'You must give them to me,' she said, trying to take them out of his hand with gentle violence._

_'Very well. Only you must pay me for them!'_

_'How shall I ever tell Aunt Shaw?' she whispered, after some time of delicious silence._

_'Let me speak to her.'_

_'Oh, no! I owe to her,-but what will she say?'_

_'I can guess. Her first exclamation will be, "That man!"'_

_'Hush!' said Margaret, 'or I shall try and show you your mother's indignant tones as she says, "That woman!"'_

THE END.


End file.
